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CLOWN. Y’are shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop: if I be his cuckold, he’s my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome’er their hearts are sever’d in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer i’ the herd.

COUNTESS. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth’d and calumnious knave?

CLOWN. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:    For I the ballad will repeat,    Which men full true shall find;    Your marriage comes by destiny,    Your cuckoo sings by kind.

COUNTESS. Get you gone, sir; I’ll talk with you more anon.

STEWARD. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

COUNTESS. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean.

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